Vegas in Red: Ring of Fire
by the morrighan
Summary: The continuation of the Detective Sheppard stories.  A new threat looms over the city.
1. Chapter 1

Vegas in Red: Ring of Fire

_Imparadised in one another's arms._

Moira O'Meara fell back. The bed caught her, took the impact of her body. She couldn't see. Was blinded by tears. Tears of extreme pleasure, emotion, sensation. She couldn't breathe. Couldn't catch her breath. It hitched in her throat. Her chest was rising and falling so rapidly she wouldn't have been surprised to see her racing heart leaping out of it.

She was hot. Sweaty. Sticky. Feeling nothing almost to the point of numbness, but at the same time feeling everything. Every intimacy. Every touch, kiss, caress, lick, nibble, bite. She blinked, trying to relax. The drone of the fan did little to cool her hot, sweaty skin.

The room was warm. It was her bedroom, but it looked different. As if the familiarity had been erased by the raw sexuality of the previous hours. Finally Moira swallowed. Throat raw. She turned her head to the side to view the man beside her. "John?" Her voice was a whisper. She swallowed again. Scooted to press herself against him. She touched his chest. Fingers burrowing in the tangle of sweaty, dark chest hair. The solid, lean muscles underneath. Silver hairs curled amid the darker ones.

"John?" she repeated. As if saying his name would center her. Calm her. Restore her to some semblance of normalcy. She hadn't known what to expect. Probably not a quickie but the events of the evening had surprised even her modest expectations.

John Sheppard was sprawled next to her on the bed. Naked. Magnificently on display but he didn't care. His eyes were closed but he wasn't asleep. Not yet, as exhaustion clawed at him. He could feel the press of Moira's naked body on his. The curves and softness pressing, pressing.

He felt drained, but happily so. He felt her fingers on his chest, gently caressing the scabs, the scars. He felt the raw scratches on his back. They gave him a purring satisfaction as had everything else. It had gone beyond sex. Beyond lust and pleasure and need. Beyond what he usually expected from prostitutes. With Moira there had been all of that, of course, but there had been passion. Mutual enjoyment. Another word surfaced but he buried it.

John opened his eyes. Swallowed, but his voice was still hoarse when he spoke. "Told you I could get it to fit."

It took Moira a moment to understand him. Then the memory surfaced, the joke about his cock not being able to fit. He met her gaze. Green eyes brilliant with mischief, pleasure. She smirked. "John!"

He snorted a laugh. Gaze roving. The oscillating fan was lifting strands of her hair, a glorious fall of browns and reds cascading along her nudity. Across her rosy lips, rosy nipples. Other places he was sure were rosy as well. He smiled smugly. "Moira."

She felt a shiver at the way he said her name. Voice low, husky. Possessive. She felt goose bumps along her arms. Blamed it on the fan. She snuggled on him suddenly. His arm slid round her, keeping her close. He closed his eyes, the warmth of her body lulling him to sleep. She was silent, thinking. Even now as she nestled on him. "John?"

Her voice broke his descent into slumber. He caressed her back, her hair. Slid his hand down to lightly smack her rear.

"Ouch!" she complained.

"Ssh!" he ordered. Grasping a cheek to squeeze.

She squirmed on him. Hit his arm. "John!"

"Ssh! I don't like to talk after sex, baby."

"So what do you like to do, sweetie? Drink a beer?" she acerbically asked.

He smiled. "Yeah. Go get me one, baby." He slapped her rear again.

She squirmed. "Stop that!"

He chuckled. "Fuck you feel good. So fucking sweet."

She frowned, squirming on him. Motions so blatant now his eyes flew open and he met her angry gaze. Brown depths of passion and annoyance arousing him. She kissed him. A long, savoring kiss. Her body sliding along his. Aligning until she rolled off him. Sat. Sighed. "Fuck indeed, detective," she noted. Shoved her messy hair out of her face. "No wonder you have to pay for it, Sheppard."

"Huh?" He rolled onto his side. Enjoying the view as she turned away from him. Long hair billowing down her back. Her shapely rear teasing, tantalizing.

"Do they have to sign a waiver before you use that thing?"

He snorted. Laughed. "Damn! I knew I forgot something, O'Meara!" He watched as she pulled on her pale blue bra. Stood and wiggled into the pale blue thong. John groaned, reacting despite his weariness. "What's the rush, baby? Fuck that is a pert little ass!"

She looked over her shoulder at him. Gaze traveling over the long, lean length of him sprawled on her bed. "Move that fine ass of yours, Sheppard!" She left the room.

John smirked. Heard the water running in the bathroom. He folded his arms under his head, under the pillow. Closed his eyes, flexing the muscles in his back, his legs. Completely content. Completely at ease. Drifting to sleep once more, as if he didn't have a care in the world.

Moira stood, shaking her head. Combing her wet hair. She was certainly getting an eyeful as John was sound asleep, sprawled like some centerfold in the middle of her bed. Arms and legs flung in every direction. He was snoring softly. The fan's hum had lulled him to a deep, dreamless sleep. Utterly content, like a cat in the sun. The sweat and other fluids had dried, leaving his hair wayward. Her gaze wandered. He was so utterly male. All that body hair and those solid muscles and all of that length. Handsome face calm in repose. Features relaxed. Long lashes sweeping. The softest smile played on those full, perfect lips until his snoring resumed.

She felt herself reacting, remembering the pleasures they had shared. Both the passion and the gentleness he had bestowed. Emotions threatened to spill, to overwhelm. She threw the wet towel at him. "Sheppard!"

The strident tone woke him. He sat. Found a wet towel in his lap. He blinked. "What the fuck?" he muttered. Staring. Moira was fresh from the shower. Long hair wet. She was clad in a pale pink woven shirt and blue jeans. "Moira?"

"Get that fine ass moving, John! It's late and I've got to get to work. You can use my shower if it's not too girly for you."

He smiled. "I'd rather wait, thanks all the same. Unless you're going in there with me." He quirked a brow.

She smiled. "No, but thanks all the same. Now get moving, mister." But she stepped to the bed. Sat close and took his hands into hers. Almost shy as she stared at their entwining fingers. "Um, John…I…um…I…um…"

He freed his hand to lift her face to his. To kiss her. "Moira."

"I, I have to get to work, John, I can't—"

He kept kissing her. Ignoring her excuses. Mouth entwined with hers. Bodies soon to follow.

But she pulled back from him. "I have to get to work, John!"

"I still need to talk to you, Moira. That's the reason I came over, remember?" His brows furrowed as he touched her arm, abruptly recalling the bruise on her skin. A bruise he knew he hadn't put there. Would never put there.

"Oh. Right. As I recall you didn't say much."

He smiled. "Didn't have to, did I? I was…um, busy."

"Yes, you were." She smiled. Kissed him. Stood. "But I really have to go now. I have to present my proposal to the committee. You can let yourself out, can't you? Meet me for lunch, at Rita's. You know it? Okay," she agreed to his nod. "Around one or so, okay?"

"Okay. And then you'll tell me how you got that bruise, or do I really need to ask?"

"It was an accident, nothing more. I've got to go. I…" She hesitated. Moved to him and kissed him again. Then quickly left before she changed her mind. Returned suddenly as he was pulling on his boxer shorts. "And no snooping!"

He laughed in response.


	2. Chapter 2

Vegas in Red: Ring of Fire2

Moira all but stormed into the police headquarters. She ignored the front desk, the uniformed cops who were openly gawking at her. "Sheppard?" she asked tersely, standing in the center of the room. Her anger shielding her from any embarrassment.

Men smiled at her tone, her ire. One pointed towards an office. She headed there, striding across the room with stern intent. Hearing the voices behind her, the speculation. Derision. Amusement. The door was open. She stormed into the office, undeterred.

John was sitting at his desk, talking on the phone. A rumpled gray shirt generously open at the chest was sloppily tucked into a pair of black slacks. The shirt lifted as he changed positions in the chair, giving her a glimpse of his bare side. "We need all the info you have on him, plus any and all registrations and licenses and the entire—"

"Sheppard! What the hell is this?" She flung a handful of papers over a file he had been reading.

"I'll have to call you back," he drawled smoothly, setting the phone into its cradle. "Well, O'Meara, it looks like a bunch of papers to me. Are you sure you have a doctorate?" He tilted his head, licked his lips, momentarily distracting her.

She slammed her palm onto the desk. "Not funny, John! What the hell is this? My passport has been suspended! Suspended! Which means I can't leave the country! I can't go to Mongolia! I know you did this! You or one of your secret government agency friends!"

"Could you keep your voice down?" he asked mildly.

"No! Damn it, John! I'm not going to work with you or your damn team hunting space aliens! I am going to Mongolia so you had better get this fixed and fixed now! What were you thinking?" she continued, furious. He stood. He moved past her to shut the door. "Well? To keep me here? What's next, John? Should I expect Homeland Security at my door? You fix this, John, or I swear I will find a way to get out of here illegally and then you'll be in a—"

John whirled, stepping to her. He caught her arms. Kissed her, yanking her body to his. A hard, almost brutal kiss as he shoved her backwards. Moira hit the desk as his mouth devoured hers. As his body pressed, pinning her. He drew back at last. "I said keep your voice down!" he snarled, but desire and amusement danced in his green eyes.

"No! You get this fixed now, damn it!" she continued, as if oblivious, but was thrown by the kiss, the passion. It did little to douse her anger, however. "You can't keep me here! I need this job, John, so you just fucking find yourself another biologist for your intergalactic team of bounty hunters! I'll get a lawyer! I'll take this to court if you don't undo all of this red tape! Well? Well?"

He smiled. A slow, lop-sided smile that infuriated her. "Fuck you are hot when you are pissed. Every time we argue I get a hard-on, baby."

"What? You…what?" Her hand had been pressed to his chest. Her fingers slid down, down. Down to take hold of his reaction to her. "Oh." She glanced there, grip adjusting accordingly as he moved a little. She met his gaze with a glare. "You listen to me, John Sheppard. I don't care if you want things your way or not. I said I will talk to Evan and Carson about your job offer and I will. I've told you repeatedly I don't want to be involved in this stuff. I need this job in Mongolia so you had damn well better fix this. I will only be gone a month or two at the most and then, and only then we can discuss this team of yours. All right? Well? Say something!"

"Squeeze harder," he rasped with a grunt. His tone low, husky.

"What? Oh!" She gentled her grasp. Freed him, glancing down. Somehow his zipper had come undone. Somehow his shorts were bunched and tenting out of his pants, full of his very stiff reaction to her tight hold of him. She smirked. Met his gaze. "Sorry."

"Let's go."

"Go?" She watched him step round to grab his black jacket. Zip up his pants after an adjustment. "Go where? John?"

"Yours."

"Mine? Why?"

He met her gaze. Smiled. Just smiled.

Moira squirmed, scooted from underneath John as he dozed. He was hot, heavy, and it took some determined maneuvering to get free of him. She rolled onto her side away from him. Hot. Sweaty. Sticky. Pleasured. Flustered. She scooted to the edge of the bed. Couldn't believe they had been at it again, as ravenous as they had been the previous night. She reached and grabbed her phone as it chimed and chimed. "Hello?"

"Moira! What's going on? Are you clear to travel or not?" came the irate voice of the museum director.

"Not yet. I'm working on a solution. There was some kind of mix-up over my passport and I'll need a few days to oh!" she breathed suddenly, whimpering as John was kissing up her back. Shoving her hair aside to traverse her spine with his mouth. He grabbed her rear, gently squeezed to make her squirm, whimper. Surrender. "Fucking pert little ass," he breathed hotly into her ear. Tongue following.

"Moira, are you there? You need to get cleared up now, or I can't hold that spot open for you. You're not the only one vying for this position, and I have several qualified candidates ready to take your place. Moira, are you there?"

"Yes, yes, I…" She swallowed, elbowing John but he continued up to her shoulder. "I said I'll need a few days to John, cut it out now!" She elbowed him again but he squeezed her rear so hard he made her yelp.

John spoke into the phone. "She'll call you back." He kissed her throat, took the phone and tossed it onto the table.

"John! John, you oh John, oh John." Her protest melted into a sigh as he ran his mouth up to nibble her earlobe. Body pressing along hers now. Intentions all too obvious. Inevitable. He pushed her gently to the wall, hauling her onto her knees. Shoving himself onto her.

"Did I say we were finished, baby?" he growled into her ear. Gently bit her earlobe.

Moira whimpered, arched as his hands slid to more intimate areas. "Oh God…" she breathed.

Moira woke. Sat, grabbing the blankets to her naked body. "John? John?" She stared round the empty bedroom. Noting his clothes were gone. As apparently he was. She brushed her hair back from her face, felt hot. Almost dizzy with the sexual pleasures. She wasn't used to such repeated sexual activity and it confused her. It was so sudden, so fast. She had just barely met the man and they were already intimately involved. This wasn't like her at all.

Then again she had never met a man quite like John Sheppard.

She scrambled into her underwear, her clothing. Moved through the house. "John? John!" But he was gone. She called his name anyway. Liking the sound of it on her tongue. Liking the claim she had on him, however brief it had been.

She frowned, disappointed. Wondering if this was all he wanted from her. That this was all there was between them. Passionate, insistent attraction culminating in repeated sex. Passionate, fulfilling sex but nothing else between them. No affectionate words spoken. No tender gestures or even loving expressions. Then she spied the note. Tucked under the vase of fading roses. She took hold of it. One word again.

Case.

She realized he had been called away on a case. A homicide, more than likely. She felt a wave of relief. She sat on the couch, staring at the note. The one word, hastily scrawled. The man was reticent almost to the point of being mute at times. But by God could he fuck a woman's brains out and leave her panting for more.

Moira smiled at the memories. But frowned again. The problem of her passport still loomed. And so far he hadn't done a damn thing about it, and probably wouldn't. She grabbed the phone to salvage what she could.


	3. Chapter 3

Vegas in Red: Ring of Fire3

John had been to many murder scenes. All kinds. Crimes of opportunity. Of passion. Of cruelty, even. But this one exceeded them all. It was on the outskirts of Vegas, in the ranchlands. A modest house lost amid acres and acres of land. The lowing of cattle could be heard in the distance. The heat was a wave without a single breath of air to break it.

The house was utterly silent. Still. A mute witness to the horror within its adobe walls. Baking in the heat of the day it shimmered as the sunlight bore down mercilessly on the dark orange bricks. John strolled up to the house, already sweating into his dark jacket. Schooling his expression as he shunted aside all thoughts, all memories of Moira. How he had left her tangled in the sheets on her bed, naked. Sleeping. Sated. His lips quirked anyway as sexual imagery asserted itself.

Sprawled on the Navajo rug was the victim. Or rather what was left of him. Or her. Even that simple fact had yet to be determined. Pieces of the body were everywhere. A body literally torn to shreds and scattered about the room like so much confetti. Blood painted the pastel walls, drips and globs of crimson staining the pale blues and pinks and yellows. Guts were strewn all over the wrecked furniture. The fetid odor was unbearable in the heat of the afternoon.

Several cops had already vomited outside. Flies buzzed over the carcass. John winced, eying the crime scene, glad he had skipped lunch. He looked round the room. Carnage was everywhere. Unavoidable. He swallowed. He kept the memories of his recent sex with Moira in a corner of his mind, instantly accessible. Her clean lilac sheets. The clean house. Her clean, pliable body under his, yielding to his every desire, his every demand. "Who called it in?" he asked.

"Neighbor. Stopping by to borrow a, a branding iron," answered a nervous young man.

DeMouy was squatting near the body, small nose wrinkled in distaste. Her face was pale but cast in professional detachment. "TOD impossible. I won't know a thing until this is on the table." She shook her head. Turned to John. "If I didn't know any better I'd say this was a savage animal attack. Those marks? Claws." She pointed.

John nodded. "Maybe."

"A mountain lion or a coyote pack, but…"

"Doesn't track," John agreed. Gaze darting around the room again. "I mean an animal would have taken some of the choice pieces with it. Or eaten them." He looked at the wall. Blood streaked the wall. Told a tale of vicious, relentless violence. Frenzied. "I'll check with a biologist to be certain." He thought of Moira. Not of her scientific background but of the way her soft sounds of enjoyment and surrender had made aroused him to unbearable need.

"If not that then what? A psychopath?"

"Huh? Maybe." John brought himself back to the matter at hand. "We need an ID ASAP."

"Ranch is owned by Julian Lodge. But I don't know if that's him."

"We will. Get photos of all of this before we remove the body…parts and all. Nothing taken?"

"No," the nervous young man answered, trying not to look at the body. "It wasn't a robbery."

"Get next of kin, just in case it is him." John strolled outside. Took a deep breath of fresh air. The sun beat down on him but he didn't mind. He preferred the heat to the stifled stench of the house. He grabbed his phone. Punched a button and waited.

Moira just finished another call when her phone rang again. "Hello?" she snapped.

John smiled. "Moira, it's me. I need your input."

"The case?" she asked, not sure if he was serious or just coming onto her again

"Yeah. It's a bad one. Meet me at the precinct. Wait for me in my office. Okay?"

"Okay, John. Is it…is it, um, alien?"

He smiled at her whisper. "Not sure yet. I should be there in an hour. Oh, and O'Meara, no snooping!"

She laughed. "We'll see about that. And John, fix my damn passport!"

John slid his phone into his back pocket, smile gone as he turned to the house. He circled round it, but there was nothing out here. Bushes were trampled but there were no footprints. No trails of blood leading out of the house. No forced entry into the house. There was a pool in the back. John stood staring into the aqua depths of the still, still water. Sunlight reflected off the water, nearly blinding him and he donned his shades to protect his eyes.

Hearing a noise he turned. Watched as the body parts were carried out. Body bag after body bag after body bag. A forensic team was clad in white, their bright blue latex gloves smeared with gore and blood as they collected every piece of the victim. It was a nightmarish procession of body bags back and forth, back and forth. Flies buzzed.

He licked his lips, thirsty. Turned back to the pool.

"Going for a swim?"

He turned at the voice, shrugged. "It's tempting. Anything?"

DeMouy shook her head. Shaded her eyes with her hand as she eyed the pool. "No murder weapon. No signs of any kind of weapon, which leads me to suspect an animal attack. We may not have a case here at all, John."

"With any luck we won't. Let's get back."

Moira stood in John's office. She had walked through the mostly deserted precinct, right into the office. No one had stopped her. No one had noticed her. She was used to that so it didn't bother her. She still couldn't quite believe that John had even noticed her, much less taken an interest in her. A very passionate interest, she recalled with a smile.

She looked round the room. At the Johnny Cash poster on the wall. There was little else in the way of personal belongings. No photos, no personal items. It made her sad. She wondered if his apartment was the same.

She began to explore. The filing cabinet was locked. So were the desk drawers. She perused the files on his desk, curious. But there was nothing interesting there. Reports and motions and legal blah blah blah about court dates and interviews. She returned to the filing cabinet. Tugged the handle. Pried at the lock.

"I said no snooping."

She whirled, startled. John was standing in the doorway. He smiled. She smiled, shrugged. "Sorry." She moved round the desk, sat in the chair facing it. Assumed he would take the seat across from her. "John?"

He entered and shut the door. Just drinking in the sight of her. Ponytail in place. Pink woven shirt snug over her curves. Jeans snug on her hips, rear. He stepped to her. Set a file on the desk in front of her. "I need you to look at these." He touched her shoulder. "I'm afraid they are pretty graphic, so prepare yourself. We suspect an animal attack."

"And if it's not you need my opinion? Okay." She scooted the chair closer to the desk. Opened the file. Gasped. John's grip on her shoulder tightened. A squeeze of reassurance. He leaned close to her, looking over her shoulder.

"Sorry," he said quietly into her ear.

Moira bit her lower lip. Went through the gruesome photos. Turning them over one by one. Stomach churning but John's hand on her shoulder kept her steady, kept her focused. His proximity reassuring. Familiar. She flipped through them again, now that the shock had subsided. Now that she could be more detached, more professional. "No."

"No. What does that mean, no?" he asked. His voice was close to her ear. His warm breath caressing her hair, her skin.

"It means no." She was staring not at the photos but at the desk. "This wasn't an animal attack."


	4. Chapter 4

Vegas in Red: Ring of Fire4

John was silent. Assessing. He watched Moira close the file, gaze still fixed on his desk. He caressed her shoulder. Feeling the bra strap and wondering what color it was. He found himself distracted by her at the oddest times. "Explain."

"Animals kill for survival. They kill for food. For defense. To protect their young. This, this clearly went beyond all of those things. Only humans kill with such vicious savagery."

"Not even a pack of coyotes? Or feral, rabid dogs?" he asked. So close now his stubble softly scratched her cheek. There was a hint of fragrance on her skin and he was trying to identify it. Some kind of perfume, very faint, slightly floral. Just enough to entice him but not enough to repel him. Like a flower trying to attract a bee to its nectar.

"Um…no." It was hard for her to concentrate. John was so close, so intimately close. His hand caressing her shoulder. His lips almost next to hers. She could see them out of the corner of her eye, those perfect Cupid's bow lips that just made you long to kiss them, to savor them, to nibble. Stubble scratching her cheek, reminding her of more intimate contact, abrasion. Seductions. "No," she repeated, voice soft, betraying emotion. Reaction. "There's nothing taken. I mean the, the viscera is too scattered and all the blood is on the, on the walls."

"Indicates an attacker or attackers about the height of the vic. Yeah, thought so. An upright vic. Bi-pedal, possibly. Thank you, Moira. I'm sorry you had to see this." He ran his mouth up to her ear. Sucked at her earlobe, hand sliding down to enclose a breast. Hand sliding into the opening of her woven shirt, under the bra which he saw to his delight was a very striking teal color. She murmured, shifting on the chair as his bare fingers took hold of her rosy nipple and kneaded a little roughly. Squeezing gently as he bit her earlobe at the same time.

A soft, soft moan escaped Moira's pursed lips.

A knock made John free her, straighten and fluidly step to the door. He opened it after a quick adjustment of his jacket over the front of his pants. "Yeah?"

"DeMouy's got initial findings, Shep. Wants to show you something."

"Great," he muttered. A summons from the coroner could only mean the case just got more complicated. He turned back as Moira stood, flustered. Adjusting her wayward shirt. He smiled at her. "You forgot one." He stepped to her, kept advancing until she stumbled backwards into his desk. Bumped into it so hard the computer shook for a moment. "Fighting over a female. Over mating." She stared, then frowned.

Her palm was on his chest as he was all but pressing his body to hers. Trapping her. "No. That rarely leads to overt violence," she refuted. "It's mostly male posturing, displays of aggression until the weaker male backs down from the stronger to—"

He kissed her. Grabbed her rear and squeezed to make her yelp, whimper. Moira pushed, very aware of the open door, of John's hands on her rear. Of his body shoving into hers. Of his cock getting stiff, demanding. Of her own reactions as her thighs parted to give him more access, to draw her nearer, nearer still. He hoisted her onto the desk, kissing her again. Freed her. "Stop."

"Huh?" she asked, bedazzled, enamored. Confused. Angered. " You stop! You—"

"You know arguing with you gives me a fucking hard-on," he complained, but he didn't appear irritated. Quite the opposite as his gaze perused her head to toes and back again.

"We weren't arguing! John! John!" She fumed, shoved and jumped off his desk as she pushed him back from her.

He smiled. "I'll call you. And thanks, Moira." He sauntered towards the doorway.

"Damn it, John! Fix my fucking passport and next time call another biologist! John!"

He turned to her. Smiled wickedly, green eyes sparkling. "I didn't mean for that, but yeah, thanks for that as well. I meant thanks for the demonstration, doctor."

"Demonstration?" she asked, suspicious. Her hands on her hips as she faced him.

"Yes." He licked his lips. "My pants will be quite happy all day now, as I'm sure yours will be, not to mention extra tight and, shall we say…damp?" He grinned.

"John! You, you…" she sputtered. At a loss as several emotions swirled in her.

"Shep? You coming?"

"Yeah, I was," he drawled, winking at her. "Am, I am now. Doctor O'Meara was just helping me come up…with a few things."

Moria glared at him, replied hotly. "Not that you'd notice."

He chuckled. "You sure did, baby. And oh, Moira, stop right there or I will have a raging hard-on. Hmm, I'll have to find a better use for that mouth of yours." His salacious expression left no doubt at what he was thinking.

Before she could splutter a reply he left, quietly laughing.

By the time John had reached the morgue both his libido and his humor had cooled. Calmed. Half the fun was getting Moira flustered and all riled. The other half was the consummation of all that anger and passion and attraction. He shook his head, not quite understanding why she was able to push his buttons so effectively, yet at the same time make him want her all the more. He entered the morgue. Coldness erupted along his skin. He glanced at the slab where the remains were laid out like a puzzle. Gristle and bone were pale swatches against the overriding bloody muscles and tissue. It didn't even resemble a body, a human being. If you didn't look too closely you could pretend it was something else, some strange concoction of materials that had never been alive.

"No, over here," DeMouy called.

Thankfully he moved past the wreck that had once been a human being. Another table held a scattering of items. Shredded clothing. A busted watch. Gold fillings. A plastic black comb. A high school ring. Half of a full wallet, with half of a credit card. Torn bills of various denominations. Half of a photo of a handsome man with a ridiculous bow tie.

"What am I looking at?" John asked, puzzled.

"What's left of one Julian Lodge. His material remains, at least. Look closer. We got an ID off the gold fillings. Owner of the ranch, single, no children, only aging parents who have yet to be notified. They retired and moved to Florida. Go look."

"Must I?" Nevertheless John stepped closer to view the gory remnants. Blood stained every piece. It was not nearly as bad as viewing the pieces of the corpse but still disturbing. John's gaze narrowed. "Everything's ripped in half. Or cut. No, literally torn." He snatched a pair of tweezers from a tray. Pulled a straggly piece of long hair from the pile. "Trace?"

"Hardly any, but we're processing what little there was. A human attack or attacker would have left something, John. But there's nothing. Not even a fingerprint! No epidermis. No fibers foreign to the vic or to the house. Which brings me back to an animal attack."

"Not necessarily." John bagged the hair, slipped it into the pocket of his jacket. "Anything else?" He turned to see the Asian woman working on the pieces of the corpse.

"No. This guy was literally torn to pieces. Humans don't have that kind of strength. Animals do. A pack does. There are no marks of any kind indicative of a weapon, of any sharp, artificial edge. But there are teeth marks." She pointed at the jagged edges along one bone.

John stared, stepping next to her. Bite marks that could cut to the bone were indicative of immense jaw strength. The marks were jagged, irregular. Not like any animal he knew.

"My best guess is a rabid pack of dogs, or coyotes. It would take more than one to bring down a man and rip him to shreds like this."

John nodded. "Keep looking. You're right. No human has the strength to do this." No animal either, but he kept that to himself. He considered what Moira had told him. Considered the evidence at the crime scene. The sheer ferocity of the attack, the high blood splatters. The destroyed furniture. All pointing to a crime of rage, pure rage.

Animals didn't attack like that, not with such sustained ferocity. Humans did, but not to the extent of tearing a man in half, then into pieces. Destroying everything in the way.

He knew what did. Recalled the other Wraith he had seen. McKay had called it a Drone, a mindless soldier unlike the one imprisoned in that secret facility. The monster's bulging muscles and bulk. The incredible firepower needed to bring it down. The strength and stamina of the creature. Which led John to only one conclusion.

There was another Wraith on the loose in Vegas.


	5. Chapter 5

Vegas in Red: Ring of Fire5

"You've got to be kidding me!" Evan Lorne declared. He was seated at a booth in Beckett's. Away from the noise and confluence of patrons at the bar. Carson Beckett sat next to him, equally disturbed. Both men stared at Moira as if she has sprouted a second head.

Moira nodded, understanding their mutual shock. "It's true. Look, I said I would talk to you and I am. Now. Talking to you about it." She felt oddly nervous, although both men were her friends and she knew she could trust them.

"No way. There's no way on God's green earth I am ever going to work for that guy," Carson stated. Voice emphatic, his Scottish accent more pronounced.

Moira smiled. "With that guy, Carson. Just hear me out." Although she doubted John would make the distinction. She could easily imagine him giving orders like a colonel.

"Why? You're still going to Mongolia, aren't you?"

"Yes, Evan, once this um, this snafu over my passport is resolved. You would be working with him. More like consultants when the need arose." She paused, as a sudden sexual image played in her mind. The way John had nearly taken her on his own desk in his own office. The need wild, uninhibited in both of them. She dismissed it. "And you would be paid. It would depend upon the case and if there was any, um, extraterrestrial entanglements."

"He still owes me after losing me that client," Evan grumbled. He sipped his beer. Not liking the conversation. Not liking the way Moira's brown eyes lit up at the mention of John.

"Still not doing it." Carson sat back, arms folded across his chest. Expression defiant, blue eyes full of challenge.

"Me either," Evan agreed. Blue eyes equally issuing a challenge.

"Will you just listen to me?" Moira looked round, but they were quite alone. She leaned forward over the table, arms folded on the smooth surface. "It's all true."

"What's all true?" Evan asked.

"All of it. The, the space aliens. The alien pathogen. The ships. The secret government agency that is in charge of it all. It's all true."

"Space aliens," Carson mocked.

"You can't deny the facts, the evidence! You saw for yourself! So did I. So has Evan. Think of the science!"

"I am, love, and so far I see very little in the way of actual science and more in the way of science fiction. What's next? A big round stone circle we go through?"

"What? Keep your voice down! It's all true, all of it!" she insisted.

"Are you fucking him?"

Evan's question came out of nowhere, out of the blue. Startling her. She felt a faint blush on her face. "Huh? What does that have to do with any of this? I'm talking about life from other planets, other galaxies! Other realities, even! This is an incredible opportunity! Think of what could be gained from this kind of exploration, these new life forms and the—"

"So you are," Evan dourly noted.

"Do you have any proof? Have you ever seen of these so-called space aliens?" Carson asked, bringing the conversation back on point. Not caring if Moira was seeing John or not.

"No. I mean….no. John says they have one. A live one. A prisoner. But I haven't seen it," she was forced to admit. Not about to lie to her friends.

"Och, well, if John says so it must be true," Carson mocked.

"Carson! If you would just—"

"I'm sorry, love, but it's all too fantastical for my tastes. Unexplained bits of possibly tainted evidence does not lead me to jump to the conclusion of space aliens. I need real proof."

"Me too," Evan agreed. Glowered at Moira. "I can't believe you're fucking him."

Moira glared at him. "Fine! You want proof?" She moved to her feet. "I'll get you proof! We can all go see the space alien and then you'll believe!"

She stormed out of the back room, not surprised at their skepticism but angered all the same. She nearly crashed into a man who was heading for her. "Oh! Sorry, I was—"

He smiled, held out his hand. "Chuck Campbell, reporter for the Vegas View. I heard that you were assisting the police with their investigation of the gruesome attack at that ranch. An animal attack, correct? Care to make a comment on what the good citizens of Vegas need to do to protect themselves?"

"You heard what?" Moira asked, dubious. Nevertheless shaking the proffered hand. Following him to a table where they sat. "How did you—"

"I saw you at the precinct. Doctor Moira O'Meara, biologist and paleontologist. I presume you were called in because of the animal attacks. What were they? Coyotes or rabid dogs or a mountain lion, or something more exotic? Do our citizens need to arm themselves and go on a hunt to bring these things down? Do they need to be shooting at—"

"No! I mean, no. They don't need to do anything like that. It…it wasn't an animal attack," she stated firmly.

Chuck grabbed his pen and pad. Raised a brow, journalistic senses sparking. "I see. Care to make a statement to that effect, Doctor O'Meara? Set the record straight before half of Vegas goes out on a killing spree in the desert?"

She frowned at his flippancy, but nodded. "Yes. I will set the record straight, Mr. Campbell."

Rodney McKay shoved the clear plastic bag across the table. "This means nothing. I won't even bother to have it tested because there is no fourth Wraith out there ripping people in half."

John scowled. He pocketed the baggie. The man across from him in the bar appeared haggard. Dark circles were under his eyes. His suit was rumpled, tie askew. "Fine. If you won't look at it I'll have my guy do it. How can you be so sure, McKay? You should have seen the body. Torn limb from limb."

"Then I'm glad I didn't see it. I saw the papers, Sheppard. An animal attack. Case closed, right? I'll repeat it, shall I? There is no fourth Wraith."

"Really? You didn't know about the third one either, as I recall."

"An oversight. It's been corrected. Whatever you have here on your hands it's not a Wraith. For one thing they don't feed like that. They don't kill like that. You've either got a psychotic killer or a pack of animals doing this."

"Maybe. Maybe not." John drummed his fingers on the table. "You still have Todd in lock down?"

"Yes."

"Why don't you ask him about this?"

"Can't. He's gone into hibernation." Rodney appeared slightly embarrassed. As if something out of his control had happened.

"Then wake him up."

"Can't. Not without killing him."

"I don't see the problem."

Rodney sighed. Ran a hand through his thinning hair. "We need him. I'm telling you, John, there is not another Wraith on the loose. I do commend your diligence, however." He stood. "You're on your own on this one. I'd call animal control if I were you."

"Then it's a good thing you're not me."

Rodney smiled. "How's that team of yours progressing?"

John frowned. "It's progressing."

"Really? Well, if it ever progresses to the point of reality let me know."

"You'll be the first."


	6. Chapter 6

Vegas in Red: Ring of Fire6

John flung the newspaper onto the table. As if he was issuing a challenge. "What the hell is this, O'Meara?"

Moira almost dropped the prehistoric mandible she was holding in her gloved hands. She whirled. The white lab coat flapped at her sides. John was glowering, hand on the paper, under the bold headline PSYCHO KILLER STALKS VEGAS! She set down the delicate jawbone. The elongated teeth made a clinking sound as they hit the hard surface of the table. "It looks like a newspaper to me, Sheppard. Are you sure you're a detective?"

"Funny. You know what the hell I mean!" He was angry, infuriated, even. Yet his gaze roved over her white lab coat, her latex gloves, her ponytail. A kinky scenario came and went in his mind. His lips quirked.

Moira frowned, seeing his sudden sordid interest. She glanced past him to the open door. Back to him. To his slovenly appearance. Gray shirt open at the chest, under a dark sports coat. Dark slacks and shoes. Belt askew. Shirt haphazardly tucked into the pants. "How the hell did you get in here?"

He flashed the police badge at his hip. Smiled. "Does wonders."

"The badge? Or that warrant you're packing next to it?"

He smiled. A genuine smile this time. "Both. Well?" He stabbed the paper with a forefinger.

Moira pulled off the latex gloves. They each made a sharp, snapping sound, causing John to jerk in his pants. "I was setting the record straight, is all. Actually, John, I was going to call you. I finally got my passport in order, no thanks to you, and I am—"

"Whoa, back up! You set the record straight? Care to inform me as I am the lead on the case?"

Moira was enjoying his ire. He was incredibly sexy when he glowered. Full, perfect lips pouting. Green eyes darker with a laser focus. Handsome face set in hard lines. She removed the lab coat, revealing her pale pink shirt and blue jeans. "What I said. That wasn't an animal attack, John, and you know it. The last thing we need is every Tom, Dick, and Harry out there in the desert shooting everything and anything that moves. The wildlife suffers enough without having every yahoo shooting at them!"

"I see." He moved to her as she turned away to hang the coat on a rack. His gaze roving along the fall of her bound hair to her rear. "Moira, you and I know this was no animal attack, but the general public doesn't need to know that. Would you rather have them thinking a psychotic killer is on the loose?"

"Yes."

"Yes? It's called a cover story, baby, and now you and that mouth of yours have blown it. More's the pity as you could have blown something much more—"

She made a disgusted sound, interrupting his crude suggestion which made him smirk. She turned to glare at him. "Your cover story, detective. Not mine."

"It's called disinformation, doctor."

"Really? Sounds like lying to me, John. Move!" She stepped round him. "I don't care what it's called." She grabbed a stack of files.

"You should care. I didn't say you could talk to the press, Moira! This is serious."

"I didn't know I needed your permission, John! I'm not under arrest or anything."

"I could haul that pert little ass in for something, but I think I'd rather just spank it."

"Funny. Get out of the way!" She shoved past him again to grab a soft, zippered bag.

"I'm serious, Moira." He moved to the table. Fingered the ancient jawbone. "Next time you feel like spouting off to the press about an active case, don't. Just don't, or I will haul that pert little ass in for obstruction or libel or just because I can. All right? What the hell is this anyway?"

She snatched the jawbone from him. Set it carefully into a case with other fossils. "Creodont. Specifically _Hyainailouros sulzeri._ An extinct order of carnivores from the Eocene but they weren't true carnivores which developed later. See the teeth? They're adapted to a mixed diet of meat and bone and scavenging as opposed to—"

"Whoa, whoa, doctor, that's more than enough, thank you!" John surrendered, hands in the air.

Moira smiled at him. "Sorry, detective. That's what you get for asking a scientist."

"I'll be sure to keep that in mind next time," he wryly noted.

They stood, eying each other for a moment. Softer emotions surfacing. Feelings neither one would acknowledge or put into words. Until John's phone interrupted with a buzzing sound. He sighed, shrugged, slid it out to check the caller. Slid it back into his pocket.

"The case?" she asked, disappointed.

"Yeah.

"I did talk to Carson and Evan for you."

"And?" he asked, watching her every move. She slid the files into the soft case. Zipped it shut.

"It's a no go unless they can see the alien. They want irrefutable proof, John." She slung the bag over her shoulder. Met his gaze. "We all do."

"I'm expected to take you all on a field trip to see the alien?" he asked, amused and irritated.

"Yes. Sorry, but that's the deal breaker. If you want a team of consultants those consultants will need to know everything. And they won't sign a damn thing until they have proof. They want solid, hard evidence. Are you coming?" She was heading for the door.

He smiled. "Hell yes, when you talk like that, baby."

"Shut up! And don't call me baby!" She led him out of the lab, down the hallways. "I have to get to the museum to present these reports and shore up any additional investigational parameters before I leave. I don't suppose you could give me a lift to the museum, could you?" she asked, as they exited the building.

"Leave?" he asked, catching her arm.

"Yes, haven't you been listening?" she snapped.

"I was distracted, Moira. All that sex talk."

"Funny. You need to show them the alien, John, simple as that or it's a no go. Show them everything, the alien, the facility, the ship, all of it."

"I see. My word's not good enough?"

"Afraid not. Not for them."

"Is it for you?"

She hesitated. "I would like to see it all too, these things you keep talking about."

"Wonderful," he grumbled. Feeling an odd dismay that his word wasn't good enough for her either. That she didn't quite believe him even after all they had seen.

"John, don't take it like that," she said, seeing a glimmer of hurt that surprised her. Made her start to say something else but she refrained. Keeping her emotions close, confined.

"How should I take it, then?" he asked. Licked his lips. "I know exactly how you are going to take it, baby." His gaze roved along her all too suggestively.

"Stop calling me baby," she complained. "Well? Are you going to give me a lift to the museum or not?"

"No. Consider this discipline for running that mouth of yours when you shouldn't have."

She sighed. "Fine. Just don't expect me to run it anywhere else." She turned, headed down the street. Smiling as she could imagine what he was thinking. Could imagine his ire at being denied.

John smiled, watching her. "Oh, you will, baby, you will!" he called after her.


	7. Chapter 7

Vegas in Red: Ring of Fire7

John drove through the city. Windows rolled down but the air was hot as he sped along. The sun was a white-hot ball in the pale sky, baking everything underneath it. John adjusted his shades as the glare off the red car's hood was blinding. The wheels spun, churning up dirt and dust as he veered off the asphalt onto dirt roads once he was clear of the city. The gaudy lights were behind him now as he ventured across farmland and ranchland, past tiny communities with enormous satellite dishes and miles of telephone poles.

He glanced out the side window to see a herd of pronghorn antelope keeping pace with him. The wild brown and white animals gracefully darting across the desert, round cacti and other impediments. He smiled, thinking of Moira. What impossibly long Latin name she would give if he asked about them. Reminding himself he better not ask. He shook his head, wondering again why on earth he was seeing a scientist of all the women in Vegas available to him.

He pulled up to the vans parked alongside the road. He got out of his car, strolled off the road into the scrub of the desert. A few men in blue overalls were standing around, as if at a loss as to what to do. A few more were gesturing across the expanse of desert. John noted the police car parked further up the road, motioned for the two uniforms to join him. "What's this?"

"Detective Sheppard. We think this relates to your case," a tall cop informed. "We brought in animal control to be sure. We found its lair, or their's."

"Lair?" John stepped to the other men, stared. Scrub had been cleared to reveal a deep depression in the earth. Oval-shaped. Broken twigs and tumbleweeds formed a nest. It was large. Full of detritus, trash, and a few gruesome, blood-stained items. A picture frame. A slashed coat. John squatted, seeing what looked like human tissue attached to a tiny bone. "Bag that. Bag it all. If this belongs to Lodge we've got it. Anything else?"

"Not yet," one of the animal control officers answered. "No hair or fur yet. But obviously this is where the animal or animals bedded down after the kill."

"It's quite a ways from the Lodge residence," John noted, still surveying the scene. Looking for any telltale signs, like long strands of silver hair, or something, anything alien. Anything to cinch his suspicion that it was a Wraith responsible.

"Maybe this is their home territory. A pack can travel large distances if they need to, for food or survival. We're testing for any traces of saliva or urine to see if they are rabid. They must be, given the severity of the attack. We've warned the local ranchers in the area and are searching the perimeter now. We'll set a trap here in case they come back, and lay down some poison."

"They won't." John moved to his feet. Shielded his eyes as he scanned the desert wastes, the distant hills. Dusk was approaching. The sun slowly setting, turning the sky to a reddish glare against the hills.

"They might, detective. If this is their home territory they will feel most comfortable here and return. At least we know now it's an animal attack and not some psycho out there."

John was silent. He climbed out of the depression to eye the horizon. Unconvinced.

Rodney paced, paced. Finally came to a stop outside the cell. Blue light glimmered down upon the sole occupant. The prisoner was prone on the floor. Arms folded at his waist. Eyes closed. A creepy smile on his thin lips. Long, straggling braids a white wash against his pale skin. "You're sure?"

"Yes." The technician checked the consoles across the room. "He's in total hibernation. Readings at a bare minimum. Sometimes he doesn't read at all and I have to look up just to be sure he's really in there. From what we have learned so far about them he could remain like that for years. His metabolism is slowed to almost the point of death. Undetectable at times."

"And if we awaken him he will die," Richard Woolsey joined his colleague.

"I know. I just had to be certain this wasn't a feint."

"He's doing it to survive, but hunger will awaken him soon enough," Richard noted. Shook his head. "All our readings confirm he is in a self-imposed stasis."

"Good." Rodney turned to Richard. "I should get back to work on the rift equations. We need to be sure that it's sealed. There have been some minor fluctuations but that could be due to solar winds or the—"

"Rodney, go home. You've been working non-stop." Richard placed a hand on his friend's shoulder.

Rodney shrugged. "I've got nothing else to do. I mean now that we're one scientist down I can't just leave to—"

"You can. Don't forget we're down one doctor too…but she's at home, waiting for you, Rodney. You need to sort your marriage before you wind up living here all of the time."

Rodney glanced down at his appearance. Snorted. "Yeah, I sort of do look like Shep now."

"What? Sheppard? Surely you're not seriously considering bringing him into the fold? Him and that team of his he is supposedly forming?"

"Yes, I am. We need him, whether you like it or not, Dick. And his team, if he ever gets it together. That reminds me, I want to run another biological scan of the area."

"Oh come on! There is no other Wraith out there! We've been over this. All situations have been contained. You're overtired, Rodney. Go home. Go somewhere, just get out of here."

Rodney smiled. "Okay. I could use a bite to eat." But he wasn't going home. He was going to a secluded little diner where another woman waited for him. Another woman who would listen to his woes and be sympathetic, even critical. To a woman who hadn't betrayed his trust, like his wife had.

John tossed the report onto the captain's desk. "It's all there. This new info just confirms the animal attack theory. Animal control officers are on it as we speak."

Captain Hendricks glanced at the report, then regarded the detective. "I see. I am going to issue a formal statement to that effect. I won't be countermanded again by your biologist, will I?"

"No."

"Good. We don't want any widespread panic either, John." He eyed the younger man for a moment. "You're still not convinced."

John silently cursed to himself. Hendricks had always been able to see through him, at times. "Not yet. Let me follow up on a few things, quietly. Just to be certain."

"Okay, but don't waste too much time on this. Animal attacks are not part of our jurisdiction, and there are plenty of human criminals to catch. What are you thinking, anyway?"

John shrugged. "You never know. This is Vegas, after all." He returned to his office. Shut the door. Grabbed his phone and pushed the button. Waited. Waited.

Moira was trying to listen as the director of the museum went on and on about the expedition. Reiterating things that Moira already knew. All about the dig, the specifics, the fossils, the terrain. She felt her phone vibrate and shifted, shrugged and checked it. "Sorry, I have to…sorry." She ignored the scowls and stepped out of the office. Held the phone to her ear. "Hello?"

"Would a human presence contaminate a lair?" John asked, without any preamble or greeting.

Moira blinked. "Hello to you too, John. What?"

"You heard."

"Yes."

"Thought so. Thanks, Moira."

"Whoa, don't you dare hang up on me! What is this about, John? The case? You found the lair of the, the Wraith? Because we both know it's a Wraith and not an animal attack, don't we? Despite the incongruity of the—"

"Lunch, then? Rodeo Bob's, okay? Half an hour. I need to bounce some things off you, then bounce you. See ya."

John laughed as he ended the call, hearing her sputtering outrage. He smiled. But his smile faded as her words played in his mind. Her supposition the same as his.

There was a Wraith loose out there somewhere. And he had no idea how to find it.


	8. Chapter 8

Vegas in Red: Ring of Fire8

His breath came ragged, uneven. Saliva dribbled from his mouth and he wiped it aside. Almost cut his fingers on his sharp teeth. He glared at the humans who were traversing the desert. They had discovered his lair. They had discovered his safe place. He reached along his arm to activate his communication device, but it was gone. Destroyed in the crash along with everything else. He flexed his useless hand as anger, hatred seized him.

He had no idea where he was. Only the need to feed, to fight drove him. Until the voice had called him. A voice from outside his head yet in it, among the debris of his addled mind. Soothing his confusion with dulcet tones. It wasn't a queen but he felt the need to obey. Needed the direction, the consolation of another of his kind.

The voice was faint but getting stronger as he neared the settlements. He crouched in the bushes, watching. Resisting the urge to attack. Thirsting for these humans and their meager subsistence but refraining. For now.

He couldn't remember where his downed ship was. He had been violently hurled from it as some missile had struck it. Almost obliterated it. He had sustained serious injuries. Yet he survived. He had waited for rescue. None came.

Finally the hunger had driven him out of his hiding place. Pain and fury coloring his mind, his actions. The survival instinct directing him as rational thought fled. Only the hunger drove him, drove him. But it could not be sated. Devolving into a violent fury.

He would wait for nightfall. Follow after the voice that was intermittently guiding him. Then he would seek his revenge. Seek food. Seek others of his kind on this desolate planet.

Seek a way home.

Rodney sighed. Poked the piece of half-eaten apple pie with his fork. The whipped cream was spilling down the side onto the plate. A frothy layer of white to mix with the yellow goo of the baked apple. He looked over as Katie Brown waited on another group of customers. A family passing through on some vacation. He ate a mouthful of pie, but the delicious taste did little to improve his mood.

Katie finished. Moved to him and sat across from him. Smiled. "Rodney."

Rodney shrugged. "Just another day at the office," he muttered. Set down the fork. "I should be at the office, tracking something vital. There's always something vital to track."

"But instead you're here."

"A guy's gotta eat," he defended. Smiled. "I hate to admit this, and I would only admit this to you, but I'm a little out of my league here with all of this, um, biological stuff. New species and all. Frankly we just don't know enough about them."

"Sounds like you need a specialist, then." She touched his hand a moment as it rested on the table. "You can't know everything, Rodney."

"I nearly do." At her stare he shrugged. "Well, about physics, anyway. Yes, we need a specialist. John's bringing one in, if he can ever get his team assembled, that is. More importantly I need to be tracking the fluctuations in the atmosphere. Even a minor fluctuation could mean something."

"Even brilliant scientists need to rest once in a while. And eat."

"True." He sighed again. "I don't like you being way out here like this. All alone, I mean."

Katie blinked at the change in topic. "I'm not alone. Carl's here, and Jane, and the customers."

"You know what I mean. Just be careful, okay?"

"You mean the animal attacks? I read about them. I'll be fine. A pack of coyotes won't scare me off this place."

Rodney smiled, but sobered. "Just be careful, Katie. I'll stop by tonight and give you a ride home. Would, would that be all right?"

Katie stared. He seemed to be suggesting something else, something under the genuine concern. A hesitant step in their relationship. She nodded, deciding. "Okay, Rodney. I would appreciate that. And you could have a cup of coffee before you left. Okay?"

"Yes. That would be nice, thank you."

Evan heard the bell over the door ring. He looked up from his book to see Carson entering. Curious he set the book aside, glancing a few customers who were examining the paintings that were for sale. "Doc?" he greeted as Carson reached the counter.

Carson was still walking with a limp, but had almost recovered from the gunshot wound. He still wore his vest from his bar, as if he had come right from there and didn't intend to stay too long. "I've been thinking about this proposal of Moira's."

"You mean Sheppard's. She's just the messenger," Evan noted. Scowling at the thought. He scratched at his neatly trimmed goatee. Trying not to picture Moira and John together. Hating the very thought of it.

"Yes, well, you have to admit it is an interesting proposal."

"Are you changing your mind?"

"No. Not without proof, anyway. Still, the idea of any of that being true. Alien life and space travel and all the rest…it is intriguing, don't you think?"

Evan glanced at the customers again. Met Carson's gaze. "What's brought this on?"

"I was looking back at the samples they brought me. From that last case. At first I just assumed the samples were contaminated, being both human and some as yet unidentified insect. But what if they're not? Sometimes the most plausible explanation is the simplest, no matter how incredible it may be. And you know Moira. She wouldn't be fooled by any hoax or jest."

"She might be, now that's she involved with him."

"No. She's not that smitten, and she wouldn't abandon all of her scientific principles."

"She might for that guy. He's really got her head turned round." Evan sighed. "What?" he snapped, seeing amusement in Carson's gaze. "It's just an observation."

"Sounds like more to me, laddie. At any rate I was wondering if you would reconsider the proposal, provided we are in fact given irrefutable proof."

"Maybe…but I have to be convinced first. Making a model of some supposed alien is not proof, not by a long shot. I want evidence before I leap into anything. Especially working with that guy. He's a shady character, Carson, you know that. I need more convincing. And by solid facts, not by some love-struck messenger."

Carson smiled. "Aye, me too. And don't discount Moira just because she's involved with John now. She won't be fooled by any hoax, and I doubt she would present this to us at all if she didn't think some of it was genuine."

"Maybe…I just…you have to admit it sounds like some cheesy science fiction show," Evan said quietly.

"Aye, it does…but not a cheesy one. I can assure you that those government types are real enough." He glanced down at his leg, back up to Evan. "And if they are real..."

"The rest might be, yeah, got it. Okay, if there's proof I might be onboard."

"Excellent. It's either all of us, or none of us. Including Moira, of course."

"You make us sound like the three musketeers," Evan noted, causing Carson to laugh.

"Aye. One for all and all for one. Glad we're on the same page, laddie."

"Only if you stop calling me laddie!"


	9. Chapter 9

Vegas in Red: Ring of Fire9

The casino was noisy. Raucous. The constant clatter of the slot machines was only matched by the rising crescendo of voices and the sloshing of drinks. The noise penetrated to the back where a modest eatery was established. The rodeo theme dominated here as it did in the casino. Booths were decorated like the Wild West, saddles on the walls. Cowboy hats along the chairs. The menus printed on old-time paper and the food bearing colorful names like Buffalo Bill's Burger and Calamity Jane's Jubilee fries.

John shook his head at the excess. Sat at a booth, waiting for Moira. He waved the waitress away yet again, not ready to order except for the Coke he sipped from a long, red straw. He glanced round. There weren't many people back here. Most were in the front, too busy gambling to stop to eat. The noise would cover any conversation they had.

He glanced at his watch. Sighed. Wondered if she was being deliberately late or was held up by some meeting somewhere. Some science thing. He debated whether or not to call her on the phone when he finally spotted her making her way back towards him. She appeared flustered, as if in a rush. He smiled, sat back lazily. Silently watched her sit across from him. She set a briefcase on the seat next to her.

Moira brushed back stray strands of hair from her face. Grabbed a menu and perused it, ordering a Coke as the waitress appeared suddenly at the table. She looked up, meeting his gaze. "What? You had to choose an out of the way place across town, didn't you? "

"If that's an apology for being late, it's accepted."

"Funny. Let's order, all right? I don't have time to dawdle."

He snorted. "Okay, Moira. I don't either. We found its lair."

"Its what?" She paused as the waitress returned. Set her drink on the table, eyes all the while on John as he sprawled in the booth. She rolled her eyes, causing him to smirk. To sit up straight and order a burger, fries. She did the same. Waited until the waitress had left. "That's what your question was about? The human contamination of the lair?"

"Yeah."

"And?"

"You answered it."

"Then why am I here now?"

"Because I asked you to lunch. And I need a follow-up."

She sighed. "I don't see why." She leaned forward on the table, arms folded on the cool surface. "John, this isn't an animal so I don't see why you need my input. I mean, it's not human either and you know how human criminals think but it is closer to being human than being an animal assuming it is a Wraith. That is your assumption, correct?" He nodded. "Okay, then. Why don't you get your secret government friends to look into this since it is their field?"

"Tried. They don't believe me."

"Oh."

"Oh? That's why I need you, Moira. You're all I've got in the way of back-up. Carson and Evan too, if they'll come along for the ride. You're the lynchpin, Moira. The glue to hold us all together. You see?"

"No, I don't. All you need to do is show them the al…the proof," she corrected as the waitress returned with their food. She sat back as the plates were set on the table. "Then they'll be aboard. Simple, John."

"Not so simple, Moira. Thanks." He watched the waitress leave. Eyed Moira. "Let's eat."

She shook her head as he lifted the burger. Took a big bite. She began to eat hers.

They ate in silence. The sounds of the casino filtering in to them. Drowning conversation, the scattered voices around them. Finally Moira sipped her Coke, sat back as did John. She ate a few stray fries. Shook her head again. "No."

"No, what?"

"It won't return to that lair. You were right. Now that it's been discovered it will find a new hiding place."

"Until the next attack, if there is one…and I'm betting there will be one."

"Probably," she agreed. Shrugged. "What are you going to do? If you can't convince, what's his name? McKay, and the rest you'll be on your own, John."

"I know. Except I have you, right. And the others since I have you. Trouble is I can't predict where or when that thing will strike."

"Nor can I. And you don't have me. I'm leaving, remember." She checked her watch. "In fact I need to get home now to pack and get ready. Can you give me a lift?"

He stared at her. "You're serious?"

"Yes! I've been telling you and telling you!" She sighed, scooted the empty plates aside. Leaned forward again. "John, we don't know the first thing about these, these creatures. How they act, what they want, how they think…but your government friends do. You'll have to convince them that there is another Wraith out there. Before someone else gets killed. They'll know how to track it, right?"

John was staring at her. "And if they don't listen to me? What then? I need you here, Moira. Working with me. I can cover the human aspects of this thing. You cover the insect ones. McKay told me it can't be a Wraith because they don't feed that way, don't kill that way. But you saw the savagery. The strength. No animal could do that. No human either."

"Then something must be wrong with it. Maybe it is injured, or mentally unstable."

"Are you saying it's insane? Is that possible?"

"Any sentient being can go insane, John. And from what I've gleamed so far these things might have a hive mentality. Now, say this one is injured, terribly injured to the point it can't feed normally, plus being cut off from all of its kind. Alone, stranded on an alien planet. What would it do? What would you do, John? When it's thinking rationally, and when it's not? When it's acting on animalistic impulses or more human concerns? That's how you'll catch it."

He smiled, pointed at her. "That's why you are on my team, Moira."

She stood. "I'm not on your team. Let's go. Can you give me a lift back to my place? Oh, what's my half of—"

"I've got this." He opened his wallet, following her out of the booth. "Okay, I'll give you a lift, Moira, because you were a good girl this time. Now I want you to be a very naughty one."

"Funny, John. Let's go!"

John parked outside the house. Moira was already opening the door. "Thanks, John, for the late lunch and all. I have to get packed and get my papers in order plus set up someone to watch the house while I'm gone and—"

"Wait!" He caught her arm, stopping her. "You're really leaving, then? In the middle of a fucking case you're leaving?"

She met his irate gaze. "Yes. I leave for Mongolia tomorrow morning. And it's your case, not mine." She freed her arm, got out of the car. She quickly walked up to the house.

"Shit." John got out of his car. "Moira!" He strode after her. She was unlocking the door. He caught her arms, spun her round to face him. The keys jangled in the lock. He pushed her gently against the door. "And this is how you were going to tell me?"

She touched his chest as he stepped closer to her. "I've been telling you, John. You just haven't been listening to me. Nothing's changed. I still need this job, the money."

"Nothing's changed? Thanks, Moira. You really know how to make a guy feel special."

"Oh come on, John! Don't pretend that this is more than it is!"

"And what is this, exactly?"

She couldn't answer. Wasn't able to answer, to admit things one way or the other. She turned away from him to open the door. He yanked her back against him. Pressing her to his body. Arms encircling her waist.

"You can't answer, can you? Shall I?"

She squirmed, turned to him. "You…you…"

He kissed her. A long, deep kiss. Kept kissing her. Fingers gliding down as he pushed her against the door. Undoing her pants, undoing his. Moira eagerly returned his kisses, yanking at his belt, unzipping his pants as he tugged at her pants, her panties. She caught hold of him, but freed him suddenly.

"John—"

"Why am I about to fuck you out here, then, if this isn't something?"

"I—" She whirled, opened the door. Yanked him into the house. He followed on her heels, kicked the door shut as she turned to him. Flung herself into his arms, kissing him hard.

John woke. He sat. Rubbed his eyes. Morning light was streaming through the lilac curtains. He realized where he was. Moira's house. Moira's bedroom. Moira's bed. He was naked. He smiled, recalling the passion, the sex. She had tried to awaken him but he had ignored her. "Moira?" He looked round. "Moira!" Listened. Realized. Saw her suitcase was gone.

Realized she was gone.

Realized he was alone.


End file.
